


our hands were just that close

by joshllyman



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Bokuto Koutarou is a Good Significant Other, M/M, Multi, Touch Averse Sakusa Kiyoomi, Touch-Starved, touch-starved sakusa kiyoomi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-20
Updated: 2020-11-20
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:28:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27637540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/joshllyman/pseuds/joshllyman
Summary: “Give it time,” Keiji says.Koutarou can be patient. He can (shut up Konoha, what do you know, anyway). He’s been patient plenty of times before and he’ll do it plenty of times again but it’s easier knowing that there’s an end goal, a finish line. He doesn’t know what the finish line is here.
Relationships: Akaashi Keiji/Bokuto Koutarou/Sakusa Kiyoomi
Comments: 7
Kudos: 58





	our hands were just that close

**Author's Note:**

> deep in my omiboku feelings this morning and then krdi was chatting about sakuaka and then this happened

“Give it time,” Keiji says.

Koutarou can be patient. He  _ can _ (shut up Konoha, what do you know, anyway). He’s been patient plenty of times before and he’ll do it plenty of times again but it’s easier knowing that there’s an end goal, a finish line. He doesn’t know what the finish line is here.

Kiyoomi won’t sleep in bed with them, and that’s okay, everyone likes to have space sometimes, but he won’t sit on the couch with them, either. Prefers to sit ramrod straight in a kitchen chair that Koutarou dragged in and sat just at the end of the couch because they don’t have any other seating in the living room. The first time Koutarou clapped him on the shoulder at practice he jumped a meter away, and Koutarou had to adjust, because the last thing he wants is for his teammate to be uncomfortable around him. But Kiyoomi’s not just his teammate, not anymore, not now that they’ve shared secrets and desires and feelings.

And yet—Koutarou still can’t touch him.

“Give it time,” Keiji says, wrapping his arms around Koutarou’s waist, pressing a kiss to his cheek. Most nights they sleep so tangled up he can’t tell whose limbs are whose, and this is how they’ve always been, from the moment Koutarou first confessed and Keiji launched himself into his arms ( _ “please take care of me, Bokuto-san—” _ ) up until now. Koutarou loves it, loves the comfort of Keiji’s hand atop his own, loves feeling Keiji’s heartbeat against his own ribcage, loves the hot prickling feeling of Keiji’s breath against his neck. 

And  _ fuck _ , does he want to share this feeling with Kiyoomi—he’s never been good with words or acts, only knows how to hold someone tight and chase away their worry, chase that feeling of “loved” right back into their heart. He wants to take Kiyoomi’s hands in his own, study those long fingers that seem so delicate from far away. He wants to run his own fingers through Kiyoomi’s hair, determine if it’s as soft as it looks. He wants to trace the birthmarks on Kiyoomi’s face with his thumb, brush kisses against them, press his nose right up next to them, so close they’re one instead of two. He yearns and yearns and  _ yearns _ and yet—

Kiyoomi sits on the far side of the dinner table. Underneath, Keiji’s ankles knock against Koutarou’s. Keiji is telling a story about his day. Kiyoomi is listening intently, two chopsticks full of noodles halfway to his mouth, his brow wrinkled in concentration. Koutarou is studying the pout of Kiyoomi’s lips, wondering what they might taste like against his own.

A bony appendage knocks into his calf. Koutarou drops his chopsticks.

“You’re staring, Kou,” Keiji says, a low tone, a warning. When Koutarou looks up again, Kiyoomi has turned his head, but there’s still a visible pink blush across his cheeks.

“I’m sorry,” he says earnestly, and he reaches halfway across the table before remembering himself, freezing awkwardly. Both Keiji and Kiyoomi watch as he slowly retreats.

Something inside him breaks. “I’ll be back,” he mumbles, and he all but flees from the dinner table, barely pausing to tuck his chair back in. He thinks he hears Keiji call after him but there’s roaring in his ears, and he manages to make it into the bathroom, slumps down against the wall, and sobs into his knees. 

He doesn’t know how much time passes before the door opens. Keiji steps around and kneels down in front of him. 

“Koutarou,” he whispers, reaching past Koutarou’s arms to lift up his chin. “What happened?”

“I love him,” Koutarou rasps, tears streaming down his cheeks. “But I can’t tell him, I can’t show him, I can’t—”

“You do show me,” Kiyoomi says.

Koutarou’s head whips around. Kiyoomi’s looming over the two of them; Koutarou hadn’t realized he was standing there.

“Kiyoomi—I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—”

“You do show me,” Kiyoomi repeats, interrupting Koutarou’s train of thought. He looks uncertain for a moment before he squats down. “I know my tendencies are...hard for you, but you’ve been patient, anyway. And that’s told me everything I need to know.”

Koutarou looks away, unable to bear the weight of Kiyoomi’s focused gaze. “I’m sorry,” he mumbles. “I never want to cause you pain. But I want to hold your hand so bad sometimes it feels like I’m gonna fall apart.”

Keiji puts a hand on his shoulder; he hadn’t realized he was trembling until he feels Keiji’s steady touch. He reaches up to link their fingers together.

“I’m sorry,” Koutarou says again.

From the corner of his eye, he can see Kiyoomi’s face. He looks thoughtful, intensely concentrated like he did when he was listening to Keiji’s story. Koutarou is thinking of asking, trying to find the right words on his tongue, when he sees Kiyoomi’s hand unclenching itself from the fist at his side and reaching toward him.

“You don’t have to do this,” Koutarou says quickly. “You don’t have to touch me, it’s fine, Omi-kun, I can deal—”

“I know you can,” Kiyoomi murmurs. “But maybe I can meet you halfway.”

Koutarou doesn’t think a single one of them breathes as Kiyoomi’s hand makes its way toward Koutarou. Time becomes unreal; the moment both stretches out like molasses and flashes by in half an instant, and when Koutarou thinks back on it later he can’t remember any thought passing through his head at all. 

Then Kiyoomi’s hand is against his cheek. It’s just barely an embrace, and Koutarou knows he’s shaking, and Koutarou’s shaking, too, as Kiyoomi presses his palm to his face. Keiji’s fingers dig into the muscle of his shoulder. Kiyoomi uses his thumb to wipe away a stray tear. 

“That’s what love is, right?” Kiyoomi breathes unsteadily. “Giving as much as you take?”

His hand falls away, but Koutarou still feels the imprint it leaves behind. 

“It’s something like that,” Keiji affirms, his voice quiet and firm.

Koutarou leans into him and closes his eyes. In his mind, he does his best to memorize the look on Kiyoomi’s face, the warmth of his flesh against Koutarou’s, the overwhelming, absolute feeling of love shared.

“We should finish our dinner,” Keiji says.

Kiyoomi stands and shoves his hands back into his pockets. Keiji offers one of his own to Koutarou.

“Dinner,” Koutarou agrees.

He still doesn’t know where the finish line is, or where exactly they’re headed. But he knows that wherever they’re going, they’re going together, and for now, that’s more than enough. 

**Author's Note:**

> title from "jet pack blues" by fall out boy  
> [socials](joshllyman.carrd.co)


End file.
